


Burning Sun

by Ghost_writes_stories



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Depression, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_writes_stories/pseuds/Ghost_writes_stories
Summary: In an alternate reality, Louis XIV. rules over a human kingdom that has yet to discover all the marvels the world has to offer.When a mysterious visitor collapses on their front door, though, nothing will be the same.Especially not for Philipe d’Orléans, younger brother of the king...





	1. Terrace Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for being interested and for wanting to read! I hope you enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great that you’re interested in reading! A fair warning though, the first two or three chapters may be a bit humourless, but that’s because I tried to set a certain tone and also because I started writing while in a very cold region, so I was quite a bit melancholic myself. I promise, however, that the content gets lighter after chapter three! Promise. Thanks, and enjoy.

The sun was just beginning to set behind rich green trees that covered every last bit of the horizon, and Louis XIV., king of France and various colonies that I will not list specifically, was content.  
He truly was, and normally, that was a hard thing for him to achieve, if not, dare he say, nearly impossible.  
But as he gazed upon his kingdom that lay vast in front of him and that stretched for what seemed to never end, he exhaled and rested his elbows on the golden balustrade that surrounded the luxurious terrace he was currently standing on.  
Why was he so content, you may ask. Well, for various reasons.  
First of all, Louis had just won an important war against one of his arch enemies, William of Orange, that has threatened his absolute power. With the help of just a few thousand willing soldiers, Louis had crushed every last instance of revolutionary thought that William has spears among his people.  
But he had also just this morning become proud father of a beautiful little girl, Louis Françoise, that his favourite, Madame de Montespan, had given birth to.  
And, even if it was not right of him as king of France to feel this way, he secretly was more content about the latter than about the successful crushing of the revolution, for revolutions, or at least attempted ones, were nothing special to him, but a healthy and royal child surely was.  
Oh, how her little hands had tried to touch her father’s cheek when he had entered the room as soon as the screams stopped, and how happy he had been for the few minutes he, the new-born and his favourite were given as a small family before royal duties had called him elsewhere.  
Still, he treasured that memory, buried it deep inside his skull so as to never forget it and search for it and look at it in moments of need.  
Really, Louis was content that evening, leaning on one of the many balustrades of his enormous, luxurious palace, watching the sun set as it drew paintings of pure light onto his face. The sun looked down on him, and Louis smiled back, knowing he was radiating no less than it, for he was the sun on earth. 

Meanwhile, his brother, Philippe d’Orléans, also called Monsieur as he was the king’s only brother, was not quite as content.  
He was sitting on the edge of his king-sized bed but he felt lesser than the poorest beggar that crawled the streets of Paris.  
He had just had a fight with one of his lovers, the Chevalier, and the words they had hissed at each other in anger echoed in his head, over and over until he could take no more.  
They has been arguing over a minor issue that hardly seemed worth the argument now, but it seemed as if the Chevalier based at least half of his character purely on being overly dramatic. And while Philippe normally enjoyed his quirky companion and his way of being quick with words and his sharp tongue, he sometimes wished that he could just snap his fingers and his lover would vanish into thin air.  
But, alas, that was, of course, not possible, and so Philippe sat on his bed for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating whether or not to bring his golden-haired companion an expensive gift or to rather punch his sanity back into his beautiful skull.  
Just when he decided for a bottle of rich red wine, a servant stormed in and cut off Philippe, who was trying to ask what on earth a simple servant was doing bursting into his sleeping chambers without at least knocking first.  
“Monsieur, Monsieur, come quick!”, the young man panted, his locks all untidy and his face beaming in the light of the few candles Philippe had lot himself just a few moments ago.  
“What...”, Philippe managed to say before again being interrupted.  
“A man, Monsieur, a man! He collapsed in front of the palace gates just a few minutes ago, Monsieur!”, the servant explained hastily.  
“Quickly, Monsieur, your presence is required!”  
And with that, the servant stormed out without any further explanation.  
Philippe would not have bothered with this nonsense if he was not so unwilling to go after his lover, so he groaned, quickly threw on a light coat, grabbed his sword and ran after the servant. 

When Philippe arrived at the gates of the palace, half of the court must have already been there as at least one hundred large dresses occupied his view.  
Without hesitation, he coughed slightly, but when no one even bothered to turn around, he groaned even louder and started pushing people aside.  
After one or two minutes, he finally saw what all the fuzz was about.  
His brother Louis was standing, back facing the crowd, in front of the silhouette of a person that lay in the shadows. Only a small strand of blonde hair was visible from Philippe’s position, so he walked up to his brother.  
When he finally stood next to him, he looked at his older sibling. Louis was not looking at him, though, he eagerly looked at the stranger on the ground, whispering something.  
Only then Philippe realised why not only half the court but the king himself was greeting the unexpected guest.  
The stranger’s hair was not simply blonde, no, it was shimmering in the most luscious colours and the strand of hair that was visible was shining golden in the dark shadows.


	2. Golden Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although he’s not even yet awaken, the mysterious visitor already manages to drive the two brothers apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you, thanks again for reading! Also, minor spoilers for seasons one and two of Versailles.  
ALSO, a bit of character and relationship building this chapter. I plan to keep this going for some time so I want to focus on as many characters and their relationships as possible. Enjoy!

Philippe once again found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, and while this time, he wasn’t quite as upset as he was merely half an hour ago, he possibly was even more furious. Because of Louis, his brother, of course. As it turned out, he was one of the last, if not _the last_, to be informed about the strange man that has collapsed just before the shimmering gates of Versailles. 

Any why? Oh yes, _right, _because he so happened to be afflicted with the Chevalier, who hadn’t exactly managed, or even _tried, _for that matter, to gain the king’s trust over the last five years or so. 

_I really don’t know why that should affect our relationship... After all, we **are **brothers, and he’s one of the only persons I still trust. It doesn’t seem that he’s trusting me, though. And all because of what? Some conspiracy the Chevalier was, without him even really wanting it, involved in, a ridiculous amount of time ago? But it seems that that is enough to permanently lose his majesty’s affection and trust nowadays, isn’t it? _

_You’re still going to tell him everything that is on your mind, aren’t you? Because he’s your only brother and you don’t ever again want to disappoint him. My God, you’re like a little pet dog whose only goal in life is to please his master. And **that **is how good your brother has you trained, _another part of his mind said, not in an evil way but in a way that had something final about it, and Philippe could almost see his brother’s demanding face, his supercilious gestures and, most importantly, his tiny but oh so invidious smirk when he got what he had wanted. And if one thing was for sure, then the fact that his brother never failed to get what he set his mind on. 

Well, maybe except for his disastrous financial situation, but that was a burden his brother’s children would have to bear, and... 

Philippe was so furious over his brother’s ignorant and self-centred behaviour (the great sun in the sky wouldn’t look out for tiny peasants on the earth either, now would it, he could hear his brother ask venomously) that he had almost forgotten about the... well... visitor? that had practically served himself up on a silver platter by collapsing just in front of the palace gates, but now that he thought of it, he couldn’t stop asking far too many questions, of which he currently couldn’t answer any. 

Louis, meanwhile, was as collected and calm as he had always been: a true symbol of royalty, of a monarch that was really _absolute _in terms of being detached from everyone who could possibly affect him, or better yet, from reality at all, quietly and majestically hovering above every other person in the whole world. 

He was folded up on an enormous chair that could’ve easily passed as the throne of any other nearby regent, or any regent at all, anywhere, but _of course _here, this absolutely luxurious as well as completely over-the-top chair was only a minor accessory his equally enormous and luxurious bedroom. 

After the initial... well, not really shock, rather a more or less pleasant surprise (he intended to find out about this special aspect sooner or later, though), Louis had collected himself and had ordered everyone to retrieve to the palace while he had two men and his most loyal servant, Bontemps, stay behind.

The shadow on the ground still hadn’t moved, only some hair shining from beneath a simple dark coat, so Louis requested the two soldiers to carry the mysterious visitor to his personal royal chamber.

Of course, as it was his duty and as Louis hadn’t expected anything less, Bontemps had complained about the fact that the king of France would, without hesitation or second thought, let a complete stranger be carried to his personal chambers for almost the whole way they needed to go to return to the king’s bedroom. And considering that Versailles was indeed a monstrous, a truly gigantic palace with what seemed like never-ending rooms full of nobles, always eager to please their king (or to alternatively poison him, whatever option seemed the most reasonable at a given point of time) and even longer-stretching corridors, stuffed full with exotic flowers from all over the world that spread their unique scents all over the palace and expensive furniture his servants had either bought or not-so-secretly claimed for their almighty king, Bontemps’ speech about his king’s recklessness and obvious ignorance of existing rules and proper measurements of security was one of the longest he had held to date.

Normally, Louis would walk quietly next to of his old friend and servant, not really listening to all his fears and complaints, and although he should walk in front of Bontemps, Louis had somehow managed to surpass that rule of etiquette in favour of showing proper respect to his most loyal friend without actually listening. 

But this time, Louis marched upfront, his shimmering brown locks framing his sincere face, his middle-length coat of an exquisite royal blue barely keeping up with his fierce steps, and his steps themselves echoing in every oh so little corner of his palace, and his incredibly blue eyes sparkling with a new fire in them, his mouth twisted in the exact smile his brother so much detested, his mind exploring all the new and exciting possibilities. 

Although he couldn’t know for sure yet, he suspected that the unexpected surprise the world had so kindly washed upon his palace borders was indeed a great gift, a gift that he would certainly make the most out of. 

For France, but most importantly, for his own good. And for the good of the ones he respected and loved. 

That was what had happened in the last half an hour, and as of now, Louis was still sitting in his not at all comfortable but fairly royal chair, mostly staring out of the window and observing how the night, the _oh so _quiet night was slowly, but consistently diminishing the golden light of the day. 

The sun was setting and it was quite possibly one of the most beautiful sunsets Louis had ever seen. The sky showed off varied colours of darkness, a fairly light blue at first that slowly changed to a pleasant deep blue that was scattered with purple- coloured clouds, which again, now rapidly, changed to the darkest shade of black the king had ever seen; meanwhile, the sun was as red as freshly-spilled blood on a battle field. 

_Your brother would hate this sunset. It would remind him of the battles he has fought, of the men he had to kill or secretly maybe, no, surely wanted to kill, of my repeated rejections of his advances towards a military career, of the two brothers on the battle field he told me about once, one being alive and carrying the other, and when Philippe asked the one still alive why he carried the corpse of his former brother, his living, **breathing **brother, he had answered him that he had promised their mother to bring back his brother. Back home. _

_And then, he asked you whether you would do such a deeply emotional and affectionate thing for him, because after all, you are the king, and you wouldn’t ever do such a thing, right? It is beneath you, after all. _

_And when he asked, Philippe’s eyes were so full of overwhelming feelings, full of sorrow and pain and tears and of fear, fear that I wouldn’t assure him what he would need to hear most in that very moment. _

Louis tried to let go of the memory of his little brother, all curled up and vulnerable, fireworks exploding behind him and illuminating the fragile features of his face that at that moment looked like that of a porcelain doll that was about to be set on fire, but he couldn’t, for it was one of the memories that were the dearest to him. He himself couldn’t really express why, but seeing his brother open up to him completely, even if the fear of being emotionally scarred was so great was one of the _purest, clearest _emotions he had ever felt, and he cherished it most sincerely. 

_Until the very end, brother. Until the very end I will love you. _


	3. Red Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Louis struggles to make sense of the unexpected visitor, Philippe reminisces about his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, loyal reader! Hope you liked my story so far. A little more of character building awaits, but I try to make it quite enjoyable.

Philippe had switched his position, he was gazing out into the open now, his slim figure standing close to a large, completely clear window that was so clean and polished by eager servants this morning that it reflected his shadow in complete and absolute and exact perfection, so much that he felt he was looking at his long-lost twin brother. 

_You wouldn’t bother for a twin brother, though, would you? Why should you, anyway, you’ve got a truly **royal **brother by your side. Well, maybe not by your side. In fact, he’s always in front of you and above you and in your mind, all at the same and still, you’re rarely ever even able to access him, _ _his thoughts, his feelings_ _. _

_I don’t need to understand him, as long as he trusts me as much as I trust him. _

_Surely **you **trust **him**, just as you always did. He doesn’t rely on you as much as he used to though, or does he? _

_We are brothers. He is the only person that’s always stood up for me. I would never doubt him or mistrust him, I could not, I would not, I could not, and I know it, and he knows I would never and he knows I could never and I know that he knows that I could and would never, ever, not in a thousand years, betray him. _

Philippe was so deep in thoughts that he didn’t even notice the beautiful sunset that was evolving in front of his very eyes, as his eyes were closed and his eyeballs shifted restlessly beneath his eyelids which were almost as see-through as the window he was standing in front of. 

From far away, one could easily come to the conclusion that Philippe was calm, maybe even content, but if one cared enough to come closer and inspect him, standing there all alone, a vast line of chambers, connected through massive doors that currently all were opened as no one but him inhabited them spreading behind him, almost like a giant snake, a python maybe, that was just waiting for the right moment to snatch him and drag him into the darkness and choke the life out of him and devour him until there was nothing left of Philippe d’Orléans, Monsieur himself, one would directly see, and without doubt as well, that he was not content or calm at all. 

His upper lip was twitching, his long and well-proportioned fingers were playing an unheard melody on the lower half of the dangerously reflective glass, tapping against the fragile glass recklessly and without hesitation, his whole body tensed like a predator in the wild that was preparing to hunt down some poor victim for the purpose of devouring it later... although Philippe would’ve more likely described himself as the deer that was killed by a hungry pack of wolfs, but his mind was still struggling to understand why his brother wouldn’t entrust him with the arrival of the unexpected visitor. 

_Surely it couldn’t have only been because of the Chevalier, now could it? He’s not even at the palace, he rode off a few days ago angrily, his golden locks barely keeping up with the absolutely furious and reckless way he urged his poor horse to gallop faster, his colourful coat flattering behind him like a thousand butterflies. _

_And you know that your dear brother, dearest of all, most trusted, definitely knew about it. Not one thing takes place in his palace without him knowing. _

_He still has to trust me, he wouldn’t have sent a servant to come and get me otherwise, would he? _

_It’s not like you wouldn’t have noticed it eventually, with your lover gone and no one to occupy your mind but your evil brother. _

_He’s not evil, he’s the king and he does what he has to do. I trust him completely. _

_And that exact thing is the biggest problem you could possibly have, or is it? You know I am right, don’t you? _

Philippe shrugged, his shoulders moving in two almost perfect circles, and carelessly brushed some strands of his dark locks that contrasted oh so sharply with his light complexion behind his ear. 

He sighed, opened his eyes and then stumbled backwards so quickly that he was barely able to keep his balance; he grabbed hold of a beautiful, perfectly-sculpted vase that was ornamented with white flowers on blue background and while it helped him regain his balance the vase surely wasn’t so lucky - Philippe sent it to the ground where it shattered into a thousand and a thousand more pieces. 

Philippe didn’t even notice the accident though, his eyes adjusting to the light that fell into his chambers because of the wonderful sunset that shimmered in all colours of red that one could possibly imagine. 

He slowly sank to his knees, unaware of the shards that cut through the thin fabric of his light, grey trousers that his lover had picked out for him just a few days ago, always making remarks about how poorly Philippe dressed without his wisdom and great fashion sense. 

Even when he started bleeding he didn’t notice, for his mind was astray, thinking of dead bodies that didn’t seem to end, dead bodies that didn’t stop harassing him and accusing him of having killed them, even though Philippe couldn’t have possibly killed them all, now could he? 

And, if he was being completely honest, while the corpses of countless dead men, enemies as well as his own soldiers, were haunting him ever since he returned from battle, he also couldn’t help but wish he was still there, on the battle field, his sword dripping with fresh and oh so red blood of his enemies, his hair all messy, his clothes partly ripped from countless attacks, some of his best friends and soldiers by his side, eager to give their life for their prince, and his eyes shimmering like two incredibly hot coals that were threatening to burn anyone that could possibly dare come close to him. 

Philippe was on the ground, slightly shivering, and he was crying. Partly because of the terrors he had seen and partly because he couldn’t wait to experience them again, and again, and again. 

In the meantime, while his brother cried for hours in front of a beautifully ornamented window, Louis, the King, the Sun himself, was contemplating. 

Not only did he still not know who the stranger that was now resting in his chambers was, he also didn’t know how to get him to wake up. 

The mysterious visitor had been brought into the king’s personal chambers, a set of luxurious rooms that could very well qualify to be a palace of their own, but were just a small fraction of the glory of Versailles. 

Doors had been opened, practically flown open as if the ancient woods they were carved out of, woods that had seen other centuries before ending up in Versailles, as if even they were afraid of the king’s fury and wrath. Of course, Louis really wasn’t furious or angry at all - all he was was overly curious, eager to learn all the possibilities the visitor could speak to him about. 

That was, if he’d ever woken up. Louis’ guards had tried to find a spot for the visitor to rest, but shamefully, they had to eventually place him onto the king’s bed - the only other bed, or rather sleeping bed as it was just a hard mattress next to the king’s bed, was Bontemps’ spot to rest, and while Louis wouldn’t have had any problem letting his visitor - or prisoner, perhaps? Louis would have to wait and find out, and personally, he didn’t mind either way - recover on the floor, he felt bad for his loyal servant. 

Of course, Bontemps would’ve never dared to say anything about it - in fact, he would’ve probably suggested it himself, but Louis knew how much even such a small bed meant for his servant, for it was one of his only personal spaces, even if he had to sleep right next to the king. But, even if he had never said anything it, Louis hadn’t been able not to glance into his servant’s bed from time to time, and although it was so small of a bed, for Louis, it let him see straight through Bontemps’ normally so composed manners and politeness and respectfulness as it was a reminder that even Bontemps was only human, after all. 

There wasn’t much to be seen, really, but the few things that were carefully arranged next to a tiny pillow said more about Bontemps than most people had ever gotten the chance to know about him. 

First of all, there was a pile of books, all half-read and none really finished, all old and dusty, one even a present by Louis himself - one of his former favourite books that he had to abandon as a king, it was a collection of fables of de la Fontaine : silly tales about animals and their problems rich ultimately were a representation of human problems, maybe even those of a king, but Louis could not stand the thought of throwing the book away, so he gave it to Bontemps, not really thinking anything of his generous gift, but apparently, his servant had cherished his present very much, probably more than Louis could’ve ever imagined. The book’s pages were partly ripped due to it being constantly reread, and it was the smallest of all the books his servant possessed, but Louis respected and loved Bontemps for keeping his present, even if it was just a silly book about nature and mankind. 

There was some sort of necklace that had a small portrait of Bontemps’ son in it - shamefully, Louis had to admit that he didn’t even know the name of the boy that has died a few years ago. Bontemps’ wife had died even earlier and apparently, his servant was now fully focused on his master, the king, and didn’t even think about remarrying. Louis secretly pitied Bontemps but would never speak about his thoughts to the pitied because he knew his servant liked to keep up appearances and that he wanted to be respected for his position as one of the king’s most-trusted men, so Louis had never mentioned the topic, not even when he was laying in the vast landscape of pillows and blankets that formed his bed, resting after he had enjoyed some mistress’s company, catching his breath, looking out into the dark night, watching the stars and hearing his servant’s breath go not too fast but not slow enough to truly be asleep. When his son had died, Bontemps had cried for a few minutes - that had been one of the only times Louis had ever seen his servant cry in front of him, or anybody at all, for that matter. 

And because of all this, because Louis tristes Bontemps very much and because, even though he didn’t like admitting it, he didn’t want to disappoint him or invade his personal space even though he was the king and could practically do anything, he commanded the guards to lay the man they were carrying until now onto his own, luxurious bed. The two guards had quickly exchanged glances, almost too quick to notice even for Louis, but he did notice and he was not too pleased about them not directly obeying, so he nodded angrily, his eyes filled with annoyance, and the poor guards had rapidly lowered their eyes, and their heads as well, for that matter, they had laid down the man and had then vanished into the never-ending hallways of Versailles to guard their king from possible threats - or maybe also just to have a nice chat about what they really thought about Louis. 

Louis, meanwhile, had only then been able to make out that the person on his bed indeed was a man, for his limbs were long, but seemed fragile and his hair was more beautiful than that of any woman at the court of Versailles. And that meant a lot, because the one thing the women of Versailles prided themselves with was their beauty that they constantly tried to enhance with the help of expensive perfumes and make-up and dubious brews and whatnot. Still, their hair was bleak and ugly and colourless compared to the stranger’s hair: his head was practically glowing, the hair flowing from the pillow his head was resting on towards the floor almost as if it was alive and its own master, and it almost seemed as if the man had a halo shining around his head, as if an angel had fallen from Heaven and graced their court. 

Louis did not enjoy male company, unlike his brother, who had always tried to convince him - jokingly, that is - of the superior beauty of men compared to women. Louis had always loved women, their fragile faces yet strong and, sometimes, furious characters and their soft curves but stubbornness.

But even if he did find women to be far more attractive than any man, he had to admit that the man on his bed was indeed extraordinarily handsome, beautiful, even. Louis could not see his face completely because it was partly covered by luscious locks, but even now, he could make out stunning, mesmerising features, dark shadows accentuating incredibly high cheekbones, skin without any flaw but a few wounds and scratches and long and dark eyelashes. Also, the man seemed to be gracious even in sleep, rolled up like a cat rather than an ordinary human being, he seemed to be ready to jump up and vanish through the window at any time. 

Louis sighed and placed a chair in front of a large window but sat himself down in such a way that he could still see the dark figure on top of his bed from the corner of his eyes. 

He couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that the man in his chambers could make much possible but that he was also more mysterious than Louis had thought, and Louis was keen on learning his secrets. He wouldn’t let him leave just like that, not after letting him sleep on his very own bed. That was a gift that first had to be repaid with very generous favours. 

Louis sighed once more and gazed out into the night, as he had done so many times before. A thousand stars were staring down at him, and even though Louis liked to present himself as the embodiment of the sun on earth, he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that the bright stars in the sky were silently judging him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? Hope you liked it! I promise I’ll finally introduce some... interesting new aspects in the next few chapters, but don’t you think I’d reveal Thranduil as easy as that! You’ll have to wait and see...;)


	4. Star-like eyes or how Louis, king of France, completely and utterly failed to say something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you’re still here, even after all that character building?? I’m impressed :0 I even left a treat: finally some progress in the story! I’m sorry for dragging it out for so long, but it felt right to introduce the characters the way I perceived them. Don’t be too happy though. There’ll be character building as well. Enjoy ’,:)

Louis had been sitting in front of a window for a few hours now, his head tilting forward as he was trying not to fall asleep on the spot. His eyes were almost closed, blue sparkles still awake but barely so, and his arms hung from both sides of the chair. Behind him, the night had completely overtaken the day, only darkness that seemed to be ready to swallow anybody who dared to step out into it. 

Bontemps had stepped into his king’s chambers about an hour ago, quiet steps Louis almost hadn’t heard until it had been to late, his servant snuck up on him. Louis had jerked up from his position on the comfortable chair, nearly knocking it over in the process, his locks furiously surrounding his tired face like serpents of some form, and had someone taken a picture of that exact moment, it would have been beyond glorious, _heavenly_, even: Louis’ eyes wide opened, brilliant blue sparkling in them, his hair flying all around and creating a halo in the process, behind him, just above his head, the pale moon shining, accompanied by a thousand stars, and Louis’ face enlightened only by the candle Bontemps held in his hands, bright lights on is face and dark shadows. 

But the moment passed quickly, far too quickly, and was lost forever, and only Bontemps would cherish it and never tell anybody about how much his king had touched his heart that night. 

Bontemps was the first of both to return to orderly manners, politely excusing himself for startling the king, before bowing and ultimately handing his master said candle. 

Louis thanked him, took the candle and placed it onto a nearby table that held all sorts of unnecessary but beautiful things, for example flowers from the royal gardens as well as a few scrolls, books and some oranges, freshly picked just that morning in the royal orangery.

When Louis turned around again, Bontemps had already left the room and Louis was all alone again.

Well, not _all _alone - after all, he had company, even if Louis had probably preferred no company at all to the man laying on his bed for hours on end and not morning one tiny bit. 

In fact, if he hadn’t been faintly breathing, Louis wouldn’t have been sure that his visitor hadn’t died suddenly, unexpectedly and absolutely quietly. 

Anyway, just when Louis turned around, the candle now on his table, and looked for probably the hundredth time now at the silhouette on his bed, the man just oh so slightly flinched. 

It was barely a movement, but for Louis, who had been staring at either the dark landscape in front of his window or at the man on his bed that seemed even more tranquil than the forest, it was an enormous improvement. 

Louis leaped forward in a motion that could only be compared to that of a very big, very fast, very _hungry _cat that had just awoken from a nice nap, possibly in a jungle, and that was nevertheless ready to hunt whatever was within sight and reach. 

Of course, Louis was quite eager, a bit too eager even, to reach his bed, so he almost didn’t manage to stop in time so as not to fall over onto his guest, and he barely halted, panting, his face just inches away from the man on the bed, in a completely ungraceful, not at all majestic or royal way. 

It was simply fortunate that nobody had witnessed said actions, because Louis would’ve probably executed whoever got to see him while behaving so horribly and absolutely not king-like on the spot. Hell, maybe he would’ve even swung the sword himself. 

Anyway, his face just inches away from his guest’s, on one moved for quite some time, more than just a couple of minutes, and just when Louis debated retreating to his chair - his back had started to hurt _terribly_ \- just then, something happened. 

Dark eyelashes were lifted and one eye, then the other was exposed, gazing lazily for some seconds before resting on the king, who was still very close. 

Louis was particularly proud of his eyes, for they were as blue as the sky on a cloudless, warm summer day during which all of Versailles wandered around in the gardens of the palace, everybody laughing, eating and drinking, enjoying life to the fullest.

The only person besides him that had similar eyes was his brother, Philippe, but his brother’s eyes had always been just a bit darker and possessed a greyer tone, which resulted in them still being comparable to the same summer day, but after some light rainfalls, and it perfectly matched Philippe’s naturally more melancholic nature. 

But when Louis looked into the stranger’s eyes, he almost fainted for the stranger’s eyes were like two stars embedded in his face, constantly sparkling and shimmering and they were of such a rich, exquisite blue that it was incomparable to simply _anything _else. 

It truly was a sight to behold: the stranger still laying on the bed, slightly shifting, his head lifted just a bit, his eyes wide open, blue like nothing else, sparkles dancing in them, his golden locks accentuating his features, and just a few inches away, Louis, the king of France, blue eyes as well that were widening, trying to comprehend what was going on, his mouth opened just a little bit, his hair all tousled after many hours spent on a particular chair, and behind the both of them, moon light falling in through large windows, creating an unreal scenery as everything seemed translucent and bright yet somehow dark, shadows lingering in every corner of the room. 

And for the first time, Louis didn’t feel in control of the situation anymore. He felt as if he was a deer and the man in front of him was some kind of unknown predator that was about to grab him and devour him, and he still, he couldn’t move for the stranger’s eyes had captured him completely and he was absolutely defenceless. 

All of this interaction had taken less than a minute, but for Louis, it had felt more like an hour or two. He was exhausted just by looking at the stranger on his bed, and after about half a minute, he couldn’t stand the piercing glance of the other man anymore and lowered his eyes. 

When he lifted his head again, the man on the bed was already sitting, his legs properly folded underneath his body, his whole posture straight and utterly perfect, not one hair out of place, his eyes still as piercing as ever, and Louis felt as if he was about to be judged in front of a court exclusively made up of stars, in conclusion, he felt just like a few hours ago, when he had stared out of his window and looked up to the stars and they had been staring right back at him, ever so judging. 

Finally, after a short period of time that was still much too long for somebody like the king, Louis had recovered enough to clear his throat a few times, stand upright and run his fingers through his tousled hair a few times before starting to speak. But what came out was more of a weak whisper, unarticulated and not at all worthy of such a majestic king. 

“I am very... content... to... uh... welcome you, dear... guest... to my palace... _Versailles... _indeed, I am very happy!....”, and so on, you can imagine. It was all rather without sense or articulation, and Louis noticed soon enough to violently interrupt himself. 

Just then, Philippe rushed in. 

Philippe had been sitting in front of a large window for a few hours, silently crying, out of sadness and out of desire equally, and in the end, he had admitted to himself that he still longed after war. 

He had contemplated for some time whether or not to disturb his brother - especially after Louis had, once again, not trusted him enough to tell him about the mysterious visitor first - but in the end, after a heated debate that took place exclusively in his head, Philippe decided that it was worth a try. Also, he had hoped to gather new information concerning the captured, and although he hadn’t known that Louis had brought the stranger to his personal chambers, he had somehow guessed it; after living with his omniscient brother for so long, Philippe had developed what others might call a sense for his brother’s behaviour before he had, in fact, _behaved_, so to speak. 

Still, when he stormed into his brother’s chambers (the two guards that had brought the mysterious man to the royal chambers were sleeping peacefully under a tree in the gardens, for two hours now; soon, they would be awakened by a not-at-all pleased head of the guard, Fabien, also called Marchal, who would then go on to glare at them for at least ten minutes straight, something all guards dearly feared, for Fabien was quite terrifying), Philippe had not at all expected the sight he could now take in: his brother standing in front of his bed, shoulders drawn back, his whole body extremely tensed up, his eyes narrowed, his mouth slightly open, and on his brother’s bed... Philippe had to look twice, no, thrice, for the creature on Louis’ bed truly looked like something from a distant world, not a human being, certainly, maybe a fallen angel or a star that had decided to take on a more human-like form but could not quite shake off its otherworldly part, or didn’t want to, and quite understandably so. 

Now, both of the royal brothers were looking at the man on the king’s bed, both in shock, Louis because he had completely failed to present himself properly, and because he had embarrassed and all of France terribly, and Philippe simply because he had never seen such a beautiful person before. 

Surprisingly, Philippe was the first one to speak, as he continued to stare shamelessly:

“Who _are _you?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I hope you liked it! I didn’t know how to do this for so long, and at the same time, I’m having a thousand ideas. Also, I specifically looked up Fabien Marchal’s name as I didn’t watch the series in English, and I hope it’s right. Generally, I’d be happy for any corrections as I’m not a native speaker, in fact, I still have much to learn. So, corrections would gladly be appreciated!


	5. Brotherly Talks and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice to have you back here! Obviously I don’t own any of these characters (sob) and I’m just writing for fun and enjoyment.  
Also, don’t mind how Louis and Philippe are articulating themselves this chapter. I kind of figured it would make the whole talk less awkward if they were to adopt a more modern approach.

The two brothers stood in front of the king’s bed, equally speechless, but Philippe managed to find his composure first and so was the one to ask: 

“Who _are _you?”

Well, of course an answer wasn’t that easy to get from the mysterious stranger, but for sure, it at least was a try. 

His brother Louis hadn’t even tried to say anything more; after he had stuttered a few words of welcoming, he had stopped for his own and his visitor’s sake and had been silent since then. 

Now, he was trying to calm down far enough to try a second attempt, but on second thought, he looked at his brother, eyes as big as a cat’s, leaning forward towards the unexpected guest, and he instead called for some guards and Bontemps. 

After just a few moments, Bontemps stormed in first, still looking a bit flustered as he had spent most of the night in the common servant’s rooming, and three guards (no, not the same Fabien had screamed at just a bit earlier; those two were now eagerly patrolling around the palace, while Marchal was still watching them suspiciously) were following him, weapons ready to fight if necessary. 

As little as a wink from Louis was enough for them to abruptly lower their weapons and step to the back of the royal chamber while Bontemps rushed forward, not paying attention to the mysterious man, focused only on his king, asking whether or not he was alright and if he could assist in any way. 

Louis quickly instructed him to keep an eye on the so-called visitor (by then, Bontemps had understood that his king wasn’t keen on letting the unexpected guest leave without allowing it) and commanded the guards to not surround the guest but to guard all possible exits; he was especially concerned of the windows, so each guard guarded a section of windows and two other guards he had called for were to guard the large door that led to a long hallway, which was then connected with the rest of the palace. 

After all of that was done, the guards dutifully patrolling in the royal chamber (which was quite funny to witness: three heavy-armed soldiers plus Bontemps, candle in one hand, book in the other, guarding one man who hadn’t even made any attempt to flee as of now), Louis grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him out of the room, into the hallway and past the two guards into a small and discrete room the king’s mistresses usually used to prepare themselves for their services. 

The room faintly smelled of perfume and there wasn’t anything in it besides a basin for water that was currently empty and a hard bench. 

Louis had actually wanted to sit down on the bench himself and almost did, but after seeing the blood on his brother’s clothes and sensing the general feeling of being lost his brother conveyed, he changed his plans immediately and instead pushed his brother down onto the small bench. He the closed the door behind them in order to gain a bit of privacy. 

When Louis turned around, he was glad he hadn’t sat down for Philippe really looked bad, worse than usual: this was not just about a lost lover, his brother was deeply hurt and didn’t even want to look at Louis. 

Philippe tried to curl together like a cat, but failed as of lack of room to be able to do so and finally decided to fold himself up as far as possible in order not to touch his brother. He looked away and lowered his eyes, trying not to show his face that was red from all the tears that had been streaming down in the past few hours, and instead started nibbling on a finger like he had done when he was just a small child. 

Louis looked at his brother for a bit longer, sighed and then decided to take a step that was reserved for very special persons only: he knelt in front of Philippe and carefully took his brother’s hands in his own, covering them and finally placing a soft kiss on top of his brother’s bloody knuckles. 

Philippe finally lifted his head high enough to look at Louis, let out a deep breath, sniffed a bit (again, just like a child, Louis thought) and then nodded ever so slightly, which was enough for Louis to begin talking. 

“Look, Philippe, I am terribly sorry that I didn’t inform you as soon as I heard of the visitor, but I have to admit that I was still quite angry at you... you know, because of your affection towards the Chevalier, and... Oh, I don’t know! I’m sorry, alright?”

Philippe just nodded once more, not yet ready to forgive his brother completely and, admittedly, he also wanted to keep listening to his brother’s apologies because that was something that rarely ever happened. Encouraged, Louis continued. 

“Now, I understand that you’re still upset. You probably think that I don’t trust you, but I absolutely do. That’s why I need your help now, more than ever. I mean, did you...”

Louis tried to regain his composure, struggling but finally saying: 

“Philippe, did you see _his eyes_?” 

Louis exhaled sharply, suddenly letting go off Philippe’s hands, having regained his composure completely and now once more the proud and inaccessible king of France, Louis XIV, of the Bourbons. 

His brother now in return ushered him onto the bench, trying to get a hold of Louis’ hands once more and, to Philippe’s surprise, Louis actually let him hold his hands. Philippe now knelt in front of his brother, looking at him from his inferior position with big, grey, soft eyes that seemed to be capable of offering him a whole new world and that at the same time seemed incredibly sad and lost, similar to the ones of a child that had just been abandoned by its parents in the middle of Paris because it was too expensive to care for a child these days and that was now standing in the middle of some street, all alone and close to crying. 

Louis took in his brother’s questioning eyes, sighed for another time and rested his head on his and his brother’s hands. The two brothers sat like that for a few moments before Louis found the courage to once more speak to his brother. 

“You know, Philippe, it’s not that I’m... afraid... or anything like that. But after sitting in that damned chair for a few hours, just watching a silhouette on my very own bed... and then, all of a sudden, he moved and he opened his eyes, and I just felt... ugh, I don’t know how to describe it!” 

“_Overwhelmed, _maybe? Surprised? Not entirely in control of the situation?”, Philippe softly asked, his eyes still locked with his brother’s. 

Louis thought about his brother’s suggestion for a moment, then he slowly tilted his head and finally nodded. Yes, that was indeed a good description of how he had felt. Not entirely out of control, of course, for he has still been the one who was in his own chambers, and he hadn’t just awoken from a long sleep with no one familiar to greet him after waking up, but still... the clarity in the strange eyes of the mysterious man had certainly been unexpected. 

Louis finally managed to get up, pulling his brother with him while doing so, and dragged him out of the small room. When they entered the long hallway, the first rays of sunlight hit the brothers and they both instantly and instinctively protected their eyes from the bright sunlight - Louis because he had been up all night and his eyes were now accustomed to dark shadows and candle lights only, and Philippe because he generally preferred living in the night than in the day, much like a rare creature that could only be spotted in the dark woods, at a small clearing perhaps, pale moon light accentuating his features.

Louis immediately strutted towards his chambers like the king he was, and his brother quickly followed him, barely able to catch up to his brother. It really was a rather long hallway, and Louis’ harsh steps echoed a thousand times on white marble before he finally reached the door to his room. 

The two guards that were positioned in front of it had of course already heard their king and had therefore quickly opened both wooden doors so as not to be the next ones executed. Louis didn’t even pay attention to them, walking right through the door and into his chambers. Philippe was still following him, slower now. He didn’t want to appear like a pet dog that followed his master anywhere, and though he still did follow Louis, he didn’t run after him. A little bit of rebellion was better than nothing, after all. 

When Philippe walked through the wooden doors as well, about half a minute later than his brother, he entered Louis’ rooms without really expecting anything, but certainly not his brother, bent over to be on the same height as the man still sitting on the bed, eyes narrowed once more, lips pinched, hands folded behind his back. 

In Philippe’s humble opinion, Louis very much reminded him of a former teacher he had to endure for years on end, a miserable small man, always swinging a stick, high on heels but still smaller than Philippe as a child. 

Generally, this was the one thing Louis had never been able to completely shrug off: his little brother Philippe being taller than him. He tried to compensate it with bigger heels, but after a while, his feet started hurting terribly and even in heels, he was barely as tall as Philippe. So, after a few months of being king, Louis had stopped his efforts and had let his brother have this one thing. Now, every time Louis talked to Philippe, he tried not to be too close to his brother, for if they were standing together closely, Louis, the king, had actually had to bent his neck a bit in order to look his brother in the eyes. Philippe, of course, enjoyed it every time he got the chance to and constantly moved closer to his brother, and Louis in return moved away a bit, and so they had developed a nice little dance of their own, and no one really (besides Bontemps, maybe, but he had never said a single word concerning the matter) had ever noticed. 

Anyway, the man on the bed had changed his position; had he formerly been laying on one side, face almost completely covered by his shiny hair, was he now sitting upright, slightly bent forward, his back a delicate curve in the early sunlight, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his legs crossed on the thick blanket he was sitting on. 

Philippe dares to step a bit closer, and none of the two persons staring at each other moved, so he finally decided to be courageous and stepped directly next to his brother, who seemed to be observing something that wasn’t yet visible to Philippe. 

Philippe tried bending over then decided that he wasn’t the king of France and instead knelt in front of the luxurious bed, his head now slightly above the stranger’s crossed knees.

Only then did he see a small, but very long and curved slit in the stranger’s clothing; even though the man didn’t show any signs of pain, Philippe could now clearly see that he must have been greatly hurt, for it seemed that the wound began at his loins and extended over the stranger’s entire torso before it ended below his collarbone. Philippe couldn’t really say how deep it was as the stranger’s hair covered most of his torso and back and the man’ clothing was of a dark, shimmering colour, maybe a dark green, that seemed to absorb any blood stains remarkably well. 

Philippe stood up, face slightly distorted as his own wounds from the glass shards still hurt quite a bit, and tapped his brother on the shoulder. 

Louis now turned, facing his brother, eyes all sincere and narrowed, before he visibly relaxed, seeing his brother’s familiar face, and opened his mouth to say something. 

Just then, a servant stormed in, panting, face all red and puffy, and, without hesitation, screamed at the king: 

“Sire, Sire! There is someone at the gate, they are about to enter the palace... please, you must come to the main throne room immediately... please, Sire, hurry!” 

And with these words, the servant collapsed on the floor, sharply inhaling air as if he was about to drown. 

Philippe And Louis looked at each other for a moment, then Philippe silently nodded - he would guard the prisoner while Louis ran off to get his hair and clothes fixed, after all, he couldn’t just present himself to yet another stranger in an embarrassing matter. 

Philippe was left alone in the large chamber with the prisoner; he sighed, walked over to a table and poured himself a glass of red, delicious wine his brother had imported from Italy. When he glanced back, the prisoner had stretched out his legs and was now directly looking at Philippe. 

“Help me”, he whispered, and Philippe could barely understand him.

“Please.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter really got out of hand... I didn’t know where to stop so I just kept writing, and now I feel like it’s in between two chapters and I actually should have split it but... yeah. Hope you still like how it turned out.


	6. Red Stains and Trembling Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, a chapter that I didn’t really start or finish but rather just write for as long as seemed appropriate...  
Again, I don’t own any of the characters, but I’m sure as hell having a great lot of fun writing their respective stories. Hope you have at least a little bit of fun reading them.  
Also, I’m open for suggestions concerning character building or plot amendments - I have a rough plan of what I want to do, but nothing’s set in stone yet, so... your chance!  
Enjoy.

Philippe nearly dropped his glass of carefully poured wine after hearing the stranger on the bed actually speak. 

He immediately set down his glass and rushed to the opposite end of the room, where his brother’s bed was located. 

“What is it”, he asked while passing various tables and chairs. He didn’t even dare to look into the stranger’s eyes yet - he very well remembered how even his normally so perfectly composed brother had flinched and bent, simply because of those eyes. 

When Philippe finally reached the bed, he immediately noticed a change in behaviour of the mysterious man - before, he had been sitting on the bed confident, claiming all the pillows and blankets and the whole room with his stare alone, his breathing barely noticeable, but now, the man’s breathing was extremely accelerated, his hair looked a bit glum, his whole face dull and colourless, his hands were slightly shaking and his body was trembling. 

When the stranger finally looked up to Philippe, his eyes were completely drained of their former clarity and life and were instead filled with so much pain and sorrow that Philippe’s heart ached as well. 

Philippe dropped to his knees once more, and, after considering it for a moment or two, he carefully took the stranger’s pale hands into his own. 

The other man tensed but allowed Philippe to hold his hands, exhaling and inhaling every second now in sharp, short breaths, but even now, Philippe couldn’t help but stare at him because of his extraordinary beauty. 

The both of them sat like that for a minute or two, then Philippe finally had the courage to repeat his former question: 

“Could you tell what is wrong with you?”; he hesitated, unsure how to continue. Then he remembered and could’ve killed himself for not asking earlier. 

“What about your... well, your wound?” 

As soon as he asked, the stranger’s face distorted and he could barely hide his pain. He let go of Philippe’s hands and, after a few more moments, whispered: 

“It’s the...oh... the wound... it’s... _hurting_.” 

He accentuated the last word so heavily as if he had never before felt pain, but his face clearly stated that he was in great pain now. 

The stranger hesitated for a few seconds, then sighed and sat upright again. 

“Would you... would you maybe... take a look at it?”, he asked, no, almost begged. 

Philippe didn’t know how to react. On the one hand, he didn’t want to betray his brother Louis, for he had just regained his trust and had just shared a very intimate moment with him, but in the other hand... he felt great empathy towards the stranger who had acted as if nothing was bothering him when really, he had been in great, probably unimaginable pain the whole time long. 

Also, Philippe felt weirdly proud and humbled that the man had chosen to ask for his help and hadn’t even exchanged one word with Louis, who usually always got what he wanted. 

In conclusion, Philippe didn’t need much persuading to agree to the man’s wishes; he nodded once, then carefully let go of the man’s trembling hands and was courageous enough to look into the stranger’s eyes that were now as empty as a desert which hadn’t seen rain for years. 

Philippe gulped, clearly struggling, and finally said: 

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to... you know... take off your... clothes?” 

He cleared his throat, growing more uncomfortable by the second now - although Philippe had had the pleasure to undress some of the most beautiful men in France, he had never been even a bit as nervous as he was now, in front of a complete stranger that had only asked him to look at his wounds. 

And what was even stranger was that even though the man in front of him was clearly beautiful, Philippe only felt sympathy towards him but he wasn’t physically attracted to him at all - he couldn’t really explain it himself, but the stranger reminded him of an extremely rare creature, much like the flowers his brother liked to cultivate in his private gardens, flowers that would never bent their leaves because of fresh wind, that would never be smelled and appreciated by anyone else than the king and a few favoured, chosen ones and that would never be able to bloom in the wild. 

Philippe felt the need to care for the man in front of him and he was even somewhat intimidated by his silent ways and his strange behaviour and his beautiful, judging eyes, and he was, quite frankly said, afraid to touch the man for he feared that the stranger would simply vanish under his touch, that he would dissolve into a thousand lively sparks that would then be carried by the wind and that would never again return. 

Philippe also knew that his fear was childish and that it was quite impolite to first agree on doing something and then be too afraid to actually do it, so he breathed in and out a few times before commencing his difficult task, still anxious about how the stranger would react or if he would react at all. 

Philippe looked into the stranger’s face incense more, and after he had received confirmation that he was indeed allowed to take a closer look at the wounded man, he slowly began working. 

First of all, he took off the stranger’s light coat that was held together below his neck by a beautiful, yet strange brooch - it somewhat resembled a collection of flowers, or leaves maybe, and those were then pierced by two daggers, and Philippe couldn’t remember any house that had such an emblem - and carefully placed it onto the bed, next to a huge stack of pillows that faintly smelled of roses, the king’s favourite perfume. 

Then, he started unbuttoning the stranger’s bloody and partly ripped top, which was made from some sort of textile that Philippe, despite the Chevalier’s various attempts at making him more fashionable, had never seen or felt. Nevertheless, it was crafted expertly, the thin strands woven so tightly that it appeared more like a piece of armour and less like and everyday-item of clothing, and here and there, small, golden threats were woven in between the other threats that were shimmering in dark green colours, colours that were so rich they reminded Philippe of a forest that had just emerged from nowhere, not one sick or dying tree in it, only trees whose leaves were glimmering in a great green, a green that was so intense it almost seemed unreal. 

Philippe needed quite some time to fully unbutton and take off the upper part of the man’s clothing, for one because he was still a bit afraid of how the stranger would react if he actually dared to touch his bare skin, but also because he still couldn’t exactly see where his wound began, where it ended, where it was especially deep and where the clothing was possibly sticking to the open wound, as the clothing was of a dark colour and it soaked up the blood so well it was impossible, even under close examination, to see where it really was stained and where the threads were just particularly densely woven together. 

After a few minutes, however, Philippe had fully unbuttoned the stranger’s top and, after having his eyes lowered and the man’s clothing for such a long time, almost didn’t dare to look him in the eye again, but ultimately, he overcame his anxiety - _Do you really think he’s going to allow you to touch him? Him, who is so delicate and yet so strong and has such a strong will and even made your brother, the king of goddamn France, lose his words! And what do you have to offer? Broken dreams and a broken mind and trembling hands that can’t even take off his clothes? He’ll probably shy away or even get angry as soon as you touch him! - _and silently said: 

“Hey, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to... take off your upper clothing now, if you don’t mind?” 

Without hesitation, the stranger nodded, his face completely overtaken by pain now, and Philippe felt confident enough to carefully remove first one sleeve, which was the easiest part. 

Now, he had to remove the clothing from the side of the torso that was most severely wounded, which proved even more difficult than Philippe had feared because as soon as he slightly touched that particular side or made an attempt at removing the left sleeve, the stranger’s face completely and utterly distorted, his hands clenched to fists, his back arched in an impossible degree and made it look as if the stranger was about to be exorcised from an especially evil spirit. 

After he tried a few times to remove the sleeve, obviously without lasting success, he gave up and distanced himself from the bed a bit before standing up completely and stretching his tired and exhausted body - after all, he had been awake for at least twenty hours now, without a break or hope for one anytime soon - and then observing the stranger on his brother’s bed once again. 

The man was clearly in agonising pain, his body didn’t stop shaking and trembling and his knuckles were white from clinching them together for so long, and his lips were pressed together tightly. Still, he remained in his position, legs stretched out, and then suddenly stared up at Philippe. 

“_Please”, _he said, “you have to remove the clothing now, if you want to help me.” 

He tensed, then continued. 

“I’d do it myself... but I can’t. My arm, my whole left side hurts terribly and I can barely move my hand.” 

He then proceeded to lift his left hand, which, to Philippe’s horror, seems to have turned deep red and purple, and which looked absolutely horrible and infected.

Philippe wasn’t even sure how the man in front of him was still sitting, let alone speaking, but nevertheless, he sighed and approached the man once more. Then he stopped, having realised he still had his knives with him, and thought of cutting the fabric.

But before he had even pulled out one of the knives completely the stranger already shook his head disapprovingly. 

“You won’t... be able to... cut the... top with... _this.” _He glanced at the dagger in Philippe’s hand as if it was a child’s toy, even though it was some of the finest metal produced in all of France. 

“I would give you one of... my blades... but I’m not sure where they are. I...I...”, He stuttered, his eyes changing ever so slightly, and to Philippe, it seemed as if he was talking about someone he dearly loved rather than just about two blades. 

“I...I must have... lost them”, the stranger managed to say. He shrugged and then attempted removing the clothing himself but directly stopped, his eyes full of pain, his fingers driven so deep into his palms that Philippe could now see red stains on the white sheets. 

Philippe, unsure of what to do, shrugged his shoulders and continued to approach the stranger on the bed - he would just try and try until eventually, the fabric would come off. 

He knelt down again, feeling not so anxious now as the stranger didn’t show any signs of disapproval, and continued to carefully pluck at the man’s top. This time, even though the stranger still had to feel a lot of pain, he didn’t hiss or even say anything, and after a few minutes, Philippe was able to lift the front of the fabric in order to get the sleeve off as well - when he did, he felt relieved, possibly more than after having survived a bloody battle - and, even though it took at least five minutes to remove the left sleeve, Philippe managed it. 

Even though the whole undressing couldn’t have taken up more than ten to fifteen minutes, Philippe felt as if he had been working hard - mentally, of course, but physically as well - for at least three or more hours. His back ached from all the bending over, his knees hurt from all the kneeling and from the goddamned shards of glass and the wounds he still hadn’t treated properly, and his mind was a big cloud of anxiety, thousands of fears and prayers and thoughts, all combined into something quite horrifying. 

If someone were to visualise his state of mind right now, Philippe thought, it would be an utterly disastrous picture: he still feared to touch the stranger or to hurt him any more than necessary, but he also felt some kind of proud that he was even asked and permitted too, and on top of that sat the silent guilt and anxiety he felt because of not informing his brother Louis right away of the sudden change of heart of their unwanted guest. 

Philippe threw the now useless piece of clothing into a corner of the bedroom and bent down even further to examine the stranger’s wounds - and what he saw almost made him lose his mind all over again. 

The stranger’s chest was remarkably muscular yet still lean - Philippe spotted some old scars, but those were nothing compared to the huge wound that began directly above the man’s waist and, in a bloody red question mark, arched to his right collar bone.

The wound looked really bad - and that was coming from Philippe, who had seen his fair share of gruesome battle wounds - and most likely already was infected, for its edges were coloured in a deep purple that clashed with the stranger’s light skin. 

The stranger had wounds on his arms as well, but those didn’t look as bad as the huge question mark carved into his torso, so Philippe didn’t really pay any attention to them and rather stared at the man’s chest for a few more seconds, equal parts worried about how he would manage to clean and treat this wound and fascinated about how the man in front of him was still able to even sit. 

Philippe was still debating over which treatment would be best for wounds of such a severity when the man on the bed sighed, turned to his side, curled up and rested on one hand, his left, hurt side protected as well as possible in that position, and said: 

“I dearly thank you for trying to help me, but there’s nothing you can do now. I wasn’t sure before because I wasn’t able to examine the wounds myself but I’m sure of it now. Believe me when I say that you’ve done everything in your power. _Thank you.”_

And with these words, he reclined onto a stack of pillows behind him, and even now, his torso basically ripped to shreds, his neck bent back as if he was ready to die, Philippe couldn’t help but admire how graceful he lay - much like a severely wounded, nocturnal creature you’re only able to fully admire once it’s dead, because it would never allow for a mere human to observe it while it’s alive. 

Philippe walked over to a table, grabbed a bottle of red wine and two glasses, and returned to the bed. He sat down on one corner of the bed, attentive of not getting too close to the stranger for he still feared refusal, and poured himself and the stranger two glasses of the wine his brother so adored. 

The liquid in the glasses was so rich and dark it almost looked like blood, but Philippe didn’t mind anymore; he now felt more comfortable around the stranger, and he was inclined to believe the stranger felt similarly. 

The stranger leaned against the back of the bed now, his legs stretched out on the bed, and after a short time of considering, Philippe imitated his position so that they now lay in a similar position, directly next to each other but not touching. 

Philippe looked over, saw that the stranger was watching the landscape, and handed over one of the glasses. 

The stranger’s gaze shifted, he now observed Philippe, and after a few seconds, he smiled ever so faintly, and Philippe was stunned once more by how natural his beauty was. 

The stranger finally took the glass, faint smile remaining on his face, and said: 

“Why, thank you, Philippe. Although I doubt I’ll be affected by your...well, by your liquids. But nevertheless, I enjoy the taste of a good wine every now and then. Of course I’m not that acquainted to it, for I don’t enjoy it as much as...”, then he stopped and lowered his eyes for a moment. 

“Never mind”, he finally said. 

“Really, Philippe, thank you. If I shall die tonight, it is with a decent human being by my side, someone who didn’t hesitate to help a stranger in need. Thank you.” 

Then he, again, paused for a moment, shrugged his shoulders with a motion that Philippe interpreted as _who cares now?, _and continued. 

“By the way, I’ve known your name for a while now, but I’ve never told you mine.” 

He held up his wine glass, and Philippe clicked his own against it. They both took a sip and, after a few seconds of just enjoying the moment, the stranger finally said: 

“I again want to thank you for your help, Philippe. You’re once of the nicest human beings I have met in a very long time. I hope that you’re equally pleased to have met me. 

Although I have had many names over the years, my true name is...

Legolas.”


	7. A Second Sun, Pt.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good to have you reading again! Hope you enjoy this chapter; it has been in the making for quite some time and I originally wanted it to happen differently, but every character has a mind of its own and I couldn’t just ignore what they would do. So, here you go; hope you enjoy!

_Legolas, _Philippe thought. It was, at least in his opinion, a very unfamiliar-sounding name; he had never before heard a name that was even close to it, and in his ears, which were accustomed to the smooth vowels and words of the French language, it sounded absolutely and utterly foreign. 

That, of course, didn’t mean he didn’t like the name - in fact, Philippe thought of it as a very uncommon, rare, unique and therefore good name, for he considered everything rare good. 

In his ears, the name managed to sound equally harsh, dough really, especially when spoken out loud, but at the same time, the name seemed to be trying to escape constantly - almost as if the very syllables the word consisted of were alive themselves, and just waited to be able to vanish into thin air as soon as someone dared to speak them. 

No, Philippe decided, it was a good name. And, what was even more important perhaps, a _fitting _name - for it was just as unique and vivid as the man it belonged to. 

Both men sat in comfortable silence for a short while, every now and then sipping a bit of wine, when all of a sudden, another servant stormed in without knocking first - Philippe was rather indignant; didn’t the servants know better than to just walk into a room, especially if he was to occupy that room? God knew how many times a servant’s cheeks had flushed red and they had almost fainted when they walked into a room after knocking only once, without waiting, and had found Monsieur in a rather private moment; not that Philippe would care, really, in fact, he enjoyed it a bit too much - but after hearing what the servant had to say, or rather, what he had to gasp, Philippe wasted no more thought on the servant’s hardly appropriate behaviour. 

As soon as the servant had stormed out again, he practically jumped from the bed, spilling a bit of his wine in the process, and placed the now-empty glass on a nearby table. Then, he turned to... Legolas... and opened his mouth when the other interrupted him. 

“Go, by all means, go”, he said, and Philippe couldn’t help but think that a tiny bit of life had returned into Legolas’ eyes. 

“If I’m not mistaken, it is indeed a very important visitor your brother is about to greet”, he continued with a light smile on his lips, and Philippe couldn’t even begin to wonder who this new, even more mysterious visitor could be. 

He just shook his head, locks flying all around, and thought about having a quick outfit change - his clothes were still all bloody, his own and the other man’s blood mixed together, and his hair was an utter mess, but he then decided that he had betrayed his brother enough by talking to the stranger - no, to Legolas, Philippe forced himself to correct his mistake - and he sure as hell wouldn’t betray him even further by showing up too late, so he just tried to fix his hair with his hands but, of course, failed to do so. 

During his reminiscing, Legolas had been observing him carefully and he now moved towards Philippe a bit, carefully brushing his hair for a few seconds with a hand so cold it made Philippe shiver. His touch was so light Philippe barely noticed it - it was as if a butterfly had flown past his face after settling down on his scalp for a moment. Nevertheless, he would never forget the other’s light eyes, now again filled with - dare he say it, _hope, _and Philippe felt as if Legolas was the caring brother he had never really had. 

The moment flew by so quickly that Philippe had to first of all collect his thoughts, which took way longer than he has anticipated because when he looked up again, Legolas had retrieved to his end of the bed, gazing out of the window, hair basically flowing freely around him like a living being, one hand rested atop a pile of pillows and the other still holding the wine glass of which he slowly took a sip, the long and open wound partially covered by a snow-White blanket that contrasted oh so beautifully with the red muscle beneath. 

Philippe sighed, then quietly exited his brother’s bedroom. He didn’t even bother to call another guard to keep an eye on Legolas because he knew the other wouldn’t go - not only because he was severely wounded but also because Philippe _just knew. _

* * *

Philippe’s quick and determined steps echoed all over the huge palace - he hurried past dozens of chambers, closed doors that promised to keep a thousand secrets, past a dozen more carefully arranged vases that displayed some of the most beautiful and exotic flowers in the world, but Philippe had to time to admire them, past a true collection of mirrors that reflected the bright sun light falling in through large windows, his own reflection small and dark and so much in contrast with everything else the palace had to offer, and Philippe’s shadow hurried besides him like a second person, always a bit slower than his master, it seemed. 

Philippe didn’t run yet, but he was afraid he’d start to soon - normally, by this time of the day, servant’s were running all around the castle, carrying heavy trays fully loaded with deliciousness, at least half of the nobility had cleaned themselves enough to be presentable and they would always sway thorough the long halls, wanting to be seen and wanting to see, as the old phrase went, and at least a dozen gardeners would work in the light of the beginning day so that whenever the king decided to take a stroll, the gardens looked like from another world, lush and incredibly green even in the fiercest of summers. 

Now, however, there wasn’t a soul to be seen in all of Versailles - at least not at the more public places Philippe was currently hurrying through. Sure, he could’ve stopped somewhere and burst into a private chamber - he was the king’s brother, after all, who would dare to say anything? - but not only didn’t he have enough time, he also was fairly sure he would have to try out at least ten different doors before he’d find someone. 

So instead, Philippe continued to hurry, running now, towards the throne room where his brother Louis liked to welcome all sorts of honoured guests - Philippe didn’t know, however, who this mysterious guest could be. He had been well aware of Legolas’ sudden glimmer of hope that he hadn’t been able to hide from his bright eyes, and therefore it had to be someone who could possibly help the severely wounded man, but who could at this state of infection? 

Philippe had no clue, and he was sure it was somebody of great importance for his brother only ever welcomed the greatest of all guests in the grandest of halls; guests like a sultan from Persia perhaps, or his very own son, but if he welcomed someone there, usually, the whole palace knew weeks, sometimes even months beforehand. 

Not in this case, though. Sure, Louis had been surprised himself, so Philippe didn’t blame him for not knowing sooner, but he was really curious if the guest could live up to his high expectations - and the expectations of the whole palace, nevertheless, for Philippe was quite certain that by now, all of the nobles had gathered in the grand hall, standing at both sides of the walls, arguing for the best place so as to see who the mysterious guest was.

Philippe had almost reached the throne room now, and he had to stop his own quick steps by willpower, forcing himself to walk slowly, giving his fast beating heart a chance to calm down and the blush in his cheeks from running a chance to vanish. He looked worse enough already, there was no need to look as if he had just run through a forest with no particular reason. 

There was just one strange thing: no matter how close Philippe was to the door shielding the throne room, he couldn’t hear a thing, not even a cough. Apparently, all of Versailles had suddenly learned to shut up for some time, because normally, not even his brother could get his court to be completely silent. Oh well, he was in for a treat either way, that was for sure. Philippe loved his brother but he couldn’t wait to see how he would react to whatever was about to come; surely, it would turn out to be quite entertaining either way, and Philippe couldn’t help but be excited and scared, all at the same time. 

And oh boy, Philippe had had no idea what he was in for. But he would soon find out. 

* * *

Philippe tried to calm himself one last time before pushing open the heavy and dark wooden doors that led straight to the throne room - there wasn’t even a guard on this side of the door, it truly seemed as if everyone who was able to was standing on the other side of the door he was about to walk through. 

Philippe pushes open the doors, head bent down, walked through and finally lifted his head. 

It was just as he had predicted: all of Versailles was here. 

The nobility was gathered either around the throne (at least the ones that had a highe rank) while the lower nobles were standing at the walls, all lined up as if they were waiting for someone to shoot them, faces blank and awaiting, excitement barely contained behind dull facial expressions, almost like figures carved out of stone by an especially skilled craftsman.

Except that they weren’t, and here and there, small groups had gathered to talk about what could come or would come - of course, no one was to know for sure, but there had always been some people at the court that would have been better off writing stories - one idea was that the king had secretly chosen a new wife (despite his recent loss, he should pick out a new wife soon, everyone agreed) and that he was about to welcome her to her future home, another idea was that the Spanish King had come to mourn his recently deceased sister (which was closely connected to the first theory, but more on that later) and some even crazier theories on what was going on were making the rounds as well. 

Philippe, of course, knew that none of these theories came close to what was really about to come - he knew his brother Louis would’ve told him about foreign nobility visiting, no matter how good their relationship was at the moment, so he could safely rule out all of the theories mentioned above. Not that he knew any better, he didn’t know what was going on either and neither did his brother. 

When Philippe had first entered the room, everyone had been silenced for a few seconds but soon, quiet whispers had continued and Philippe was now walking down the long hall towards the throne placed at the opposing end, on which his brother wasn’t sitting, his favourite mistress Madame de Montespan by his side, a few ministers gathered behind him and the highest nobility practically at his feet. 

Philippe walked more quickly now, feeling the looks many nobles gave him, apparently judging the poor condition his clothes were in, not to mention his face and his hair. God, he probably looked worse than Legolas when he had first turned up at the palace gates; when Philippe thought about it, Legolas had never looked bad, merely distraught and, quite literally, _wounded _as if he hadn’t just lost a lot of blood but rather as if he had lost a part that had defined him. Apparently, he had found at least a shred of it when the servant had announced a mysterious guest; Philippe just wished that Legolas’ hope wasn’t misplaced on whoever was about to be greeted by the king. 

While thinking, Philippe had reached the other end of the grand hall and was now standing directly in front of his brother. Louis lifted an eyebrow, looked him in the eye and nodded barely visibly, but enough for Philippe to know he had done well when not cleaning himself properly but rather rushing to his brother’s side. 

Philippe nodded as well, hoped his brother could understand the emotion that he hid behind a mask of formality and took his place next to the king at his right side; Madame de Montespan didn’t even twitch the whole time, she stood there like she had just encountered Medusa herself and was now a sculpture made out of stone, strangely beautiful and fragile but without any life in her. She didn’t even blink, and her breast barely moved as he exhaled and inhaled slowly, so as not to be heard. The echo in the throne room was remarkable, to say the least. 

For a minute, nothing happened, but then, everything happened at once. 

* * *

A servant rushed in through a side door, panting, cheeks red from running, and began to stutter something about the guest growing impatient and heading for the throne room but Louis couldn’t even answer; he opened his mouth just when the large wooden doors weren’t so much pushed open as they flew open and then, a silhouette filled out the space between them. 

All of Versailles turned their heads as if someone had made them marionettes and had now decided to give them a good spin; it was such a synchronised and parallel movement it seemed absolutely artificial, and yet, it was just natural. 

A person was slowly, so slowly, walking through the large doors, and it was as if a literal angel had descended from heaven to bring them a message from the Gods. 

The figure was shimmering and shining, and for a few seconds, no one could make out anything else than how majestic and unnatural the person seemed. 

Then, details began to come visible; the person was very tall - taller than Legolas even, Philippe thought with wonder - but at the same time was incredibly graceful, even the littlest of movement carefully choreographed and without rush, and so, the person progressed from the faraway end towards the throne. 

The person was wearing wide clothes, a long robe of a sort that shimmered in the most exquisite of reds, a lush, dark red that seemed to be alive and that followed the person’s every movement like an obedient servant rather than just a piece of cloth. The robe was long, very long, it continued to flow and flow past the doors long after the person had passed them, and when it finally stopped, the red colour seemed to swallow every other colour in the room, even the king’s deep blue colours seemed bland when compared. 

The person, meanwhile, continued to walk towards the throne, and Philippe could now see that it was indeed a man, although he was of such beauty it was hard to even describe him as such - his facial features outshone even Legolas’, his cheek bones so high, shadows beneath it that accentuated two big dark eyes, crowned with even darker, long eyelashes that seemed as if they were made out of silk, the eyes themselves of such a deep blue that the king’s blue robe seemed like a sad imitation. 

The man had very long hair that was so light every single strand reflected the sun rays that accessed the room though the large windows on the opposite side, but even if there hadn’t been any light besides a candle in the hall, the man would’ve shone - it seemed as if the sun itself had taken on a more human form and decided to walk down a staircase of silken clouds before walking right into the king’s throne room, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the man. 

He had a slim figure, his clothes just accentuating and not hiding, and some sort of a crown sat upon his lush golden locks, which was made of delicate branches that all had blood red leaves on them, and the branches were sorted from longer to smaller and so made up a perfect, natural crown that looked like a miniature forest realm on the strange man’s head. 

Everyone in the room looked at him in awe, not able to contain their facial expressions that were all equal and suddenly, in the stranger’s presence, even the highest of noblemen seemed like a mere servant. 

Philippe could only take his eyes off the stranger for one second to turn his head to his brother, and to Philippe’s surprise, Louis hadn’t even closed his mouth after he had wanted to answer the servant, which seemed like an eternity ago, so much had the stranger occupied everyone’s mind and eyes. 

Louis was still sitting on his throne, slightly bent forward, his hands sunken into the soft material the chair was covered with, his eyes big like a child that had just seen the first snow flakes, and even his mistress, Madame de Montespan, normally as emotional as a piece of wood, had opened her mouth slightly, her eyes bulging, almost falling out of their sockets, and that was just how Philipe himself probably looked. 

The man had finally reached the space before the throne and stopped walking, his robe continuing to flow behind him even though he wasn’t moving at all, his hair touched by a slight breeze even though there was no wind in the room, for all windows were closed, and when he looked up to the king, he smiled ever so slightly. 

“Very pleased to meet you, Louis XIV, king of France”, he purred. 


	8. A Second Sun, Pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO, SO sorry for not posting in such a long time, but these past few weeks really have been rather stressful. Hope you enjoy, even if it’s a fairly short chapter.

Not a person in Versailles dared to make even the faintest sound, much less actually say a word out loud - everybody was holding their breath, waiting, _waiting _for their king to reply something to the stranger’s breathtaking entrance, and they waited for quite some time for Louis had been as stunned as the rest of them, though he regained his composure more quickly than most of the court. 

Meanwhile, the stranger stood in the middle of the hall, just a few metres from Louis’ throne, and even though his position was currently lower than the king’s there was no doubt who truly was the superior - one only had to look at Louis’ still slightly distorted face and then, in contrast, look at the stranger whose face was as calm as the ocean in the early morning, only lively thing his eyes that shimmered faintly in the sun rays of the rising star. His mouth was still drawn in a ever so slight smirk, his dark eyebrows oh so little raised to express mild amusement at the court’s reaction. 

Finally, the king had collected himself. Louis didn’t stand up for he thought it would just further lower his position, instead, he remained seated, bent forward a bit and began to speak: 

“I, Louis XIV., King of France, welcome you to my court at Versailles. May I know who I have the pleasure talking to?” 

Then, he laid back on his throne that suddenly seemed so small (Louis really didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the entire court more than necessary) and awaited the stranger’s word. 

Said stranger didn’t seem to be in a rush, though; he stayed silent for what seemed like an eternity and everyone gathered audibly let out a sigh of relief when he eventually started talking in an ever so relaxed voice, voice itself smooth as expensive silk. 

“I surely can grant you this so-called pleasure, although I am quite certain that in the near future, you, Louis, Oh great King of France, will come to realise it is really more of a displeasure...”,

At this point, Louis wanted to interrupt his visitor but couldn’t as the other simply continued talking over Louis’ faint attempts of speaking: 

“...however, I see no problem in telling you my name. I am Thranduil, son of Oropher, King of the Woodland Realm, King of the Northern Mirkwood and King of the...” at this point, he stopped before continuing to talk, and no one except Philippe even noticed, “...King of the folk of the Woods.” 

People were now openly staring at the strange man standing in the courtroom of Versailles, dressed in the finest clothes, behaving like a God and claiming to be... what exactly? Claiming to be the king of some... Woodland Realm? Mirkwood? 

Not only had no one ever heard of these places, it all sounded rather... _rural, _to say the least. In short, it didn’t in the slightest fit the man’s royal behaviour and appearance. 

When people in Versailles thought of the woods, they thought of the king hunting for pleasure at best, and at worst, they thought of coldness and the wild and untamed beasts and, God help them, maybe even witches and whatnot. That such a royal person would even set a toe inside the forest was too much for most to grasp. 

Monkey Philippe, who had remained silent the whole time, didn’t think of it as overly confusing or strange; it fact, he thought it to be fairly fitting for the strange man to be a king of some unknown Realm hidden in the woods for the man himself was just as untamed and wild and mysterious as the deep and dark forest no one had ever set a foot in. 

Sure, the king hunted in the woods all the time, and Philippe had oftentimes accompanied him when he had nothing else of better to do or when he wanted to escape his lover’s constant whining and dramatics or simply when he wanted to talk to Louis without being disturbed by a hundred servants, but they only hunted in the light parts of the forest and never rode straight into the woods for more than an hour, because then, the forest suddenly seemed to turn more... _dark, __violent _even, Philippe thought in lack of words to better describe the feeling one got when he rode his horse under the crowns of trees that were hundreds of years old and that had so many leaves and grew so high that even in broad day light it was dark under their majestic crowns, and it was unimaginable what the forest began to smell like - it was a scent that seemed to be _alive, _a scent that seemed to be absorbed into one’s skin and that stuck to one’s clothes days and weeks after leaving the forest. 

In conclusion, in Philippe’s opinion, after looking at the man, _Thranduil, _for a few minutes, that man conveyed the exact feeling he got when he accidentally trespassed a certain border in the woods and entered a new world - it was an intimidating feeling that seemed to creep up one’s back and that you could never quite get rid off. 

Philippe shuddered ever so slightly. Even though the man surely was incredibly handsome, Philippe had never felt so small and unimportant and childish and scared and lost in his life. But now, when looking at the man, he felt like a child again, having done something wrong and awaiting severe punishment from one of his nursemaids or, even worse, his mother. 

Even the stranger’s name was unfamiliar and rather weird... much like Legolas’ name, when Philippe thought about it. And Philippe had plenty of time to think about the connection the two strangers had... when he looked at the man standing in front of him now, he could hit himself for not seeing the uncanny resemblance he bore when compared to Legolas’ features. 

Those two surely were related in some way, Philippe thought, more interested than scared now. He only had to find out how exactly. 

* * *

Minutes of silence passed before Louis had had enough time to formulate an adequate answer; of course he, just like everyone else, had never heard of a kingdom in the woods but was very well aware that even if the man standing in front of him was, to some extent at least, absolutely crazy, he also had to be incredibly rich. And Louis would be damned if he just insulted a wealthy stranger from some unknown land, so he decided to be as diplomatic as possible. 

“I am honoured to meet you, Thranduil... King of the... Woodland Realm”, he said. 

“Although your beautiful kingdom is a kingdom I do not yet know, it would please me very much to get to know its culture and its traditions. Perhaps we can arrange a visit later on. 

But what is most important right now is why you, dear visitor, are here. May I ask why you are here?”, Louis ended his little speech. He actually wanted to arrange a visit to this strange kingdom more than anything else, and if it was just to see how rich exactly this strange man really was. But first things first. 

Thranduil’s eyebrows rose again, but this time, he didn’t smirk in the slightest. 

“Dear Louis, I am here because of a man that some of my... _people _have seen close to your borders.” 

At this point, Louis almost interrupted him again - what did he mean by borders? Louis’ kingdom went on for countless kilometres, at least a thousand in every direction before a border was to be reached...and yet the stranger seemed so sure of what he was saying that Louis didn’t dare interrupt him but bit his lip and continued listening. 

“You must know, Louis, that this man is very dear to me and that I will reward you with treasures greater than anything you have ever seen if I am to receive this man back as soon as possible. That is, if you even still have him?” 

Thranduil’s brows furrowed, he awaited the other king’s answer. 

Louis, meanwhile, was smiling inside but forced himself to stay motionless from the outside. This was exactly what he had hoped for, the man had proven to be a very valuable asset - even if he was just to be exchanged for even greater goods. One look at the stranger’s clothes and Louis was sent far away, dreaming of finest robes and expensive jewellery in endless fantasies of his own making. And perhaps the strange king would even allow for a longer-lasting alliance, preferably a trade alliance that Louis thought to be incredibly valuable. 

Louis smiled. He had regained full control of the situation, for finally, he had the upper hand. He didn’t even waste a thought on why the other king knew so well of a visitor that had arrived just a couple of hours before and that no one but the court of Versailles had seen - nor did he think about who exactly the other king meant when he had mentioned “his people” - no, Louis had bigger things in mind, and frankly, he didn’t care. Yet.

“Of course said man is still in the palace; if you would like to see him, I can arrange that in a matter of mere seconds”, Louis said smoothly, his face lit up by a radiant smile. He turned to his brother, who was still silent and had backed away from the strange king as far as possible. 

“Philippe”, Louis commanded in his usual royal voice, “go and get our dear visitor. _Now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, this story is going to continue for a long time. I have so many ideas, I’m even thinking about some time-travelling... don’t you think it’d be fun to have Thranduil and Philippe wander about 21st century France? It’s a long way until then, though.  
Also, I really appreciate feedback as well as new and fresh ideas, although I myself have quite some strange stuff planned.  
Till next time!


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